


With a Little Luck

by liberalistempor



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Betting, Casinos, Kissing, M/M, Origins!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-04
Updated: 2011-11-04
Packaged: 2017-10-25 17:10:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liberalistempor/pseuds/liberalistempor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was before he had found Cobb, to live in dreams and dream to live.</p><p>Origins story, could be seen as an AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With a Little Luck

It was before he had found Cobb, to live in dreams and dream to live. It was before he had entered the Marines and before he had decided that he needed to be adult and responsible. No, this is the time when he had decided to be paradoxically stupid, and when he had his hair tied back with a green rubber band. He had a girl and he had his old man's leather jacket, and he wore it like it meant something (He still wears leather jackets, it's just that Armani doesn't stink of alcohol, motor oil, and gasoline. Usually.)

It was that precarious time when he was still young, when dreams were dreams and never life, never going to do anything that he didn't want to do, when nothing was a challenge because he always walked away. He had a (mostly) permanent residence, and didn't worry about Limbo or people trying to kill him. He didn't worry about anything in his life collapsing because there wasn't anything to collapse.

He was nothing but a teenager. He had fun. He stayed out too late, enjoyed the act of living. He perfected tests, because it was always up to him to live out his old man's dreams of college and a better future and out of the gutters of Las Vegas. Which was why he was out of the gutter and onto the strip, Autumn by his side and the entire night before them.

It was easy and hard to pick which building to enter first, like a pair of kids at a candy shop. They finally pick a vaguely Romanesque building, fake marble columns to boot, going inside. Autumn is wearing her nicest dress, a faded floral print thing that was probably from the fifties, meticulously cut and hemmed so it would fall several inches above her knees, laddered tights and her black boots on her feet, her own leather jacket around her shoulders.

He himself is wearing his (father's) leather jacket, a button shirt from the last wedding-or was it funeral?-that he had to attend, jeans too big for his too small frame and black high tops, laces kept together by a prayer and a safety pin. They look out of place, but then again what would be considered in place for a place as gaudy as this? She shoots him a smile and drags him over to slots, where he loses ten, and she twenty, before they get bored of the machines and look around again.

Blackjack was a far better game for him to play, a mixture of brains, wit, and luck, none of which his girl possesses, and she loses thirty and he wins a hundred. Grumbling, she concedes her loss and tries to drag him away as he gains the upper hand once again.

After drinks-“Honestly, that was a good game!” “Honestly, sweetie, I could have cared less...”-and a laugh and a dance-“It's part of the charm, come on!” “There is no charm to falling on my face.”-he walks next to her again, with her draped over his arm like she was going to drown without it. The air here is buzzing, and he was positive something big was going to fall into his lap. Soon, he thought. Soon.

“Oi! Kid!” He snaps out of his reverie, glancing over at the sound-who doesn't when one shouts like that?-and notices a parting from a very crowded table, men and women dressed to the nines, shimmers and sequins and smart bows and sleek ties, and all of this parting like a sea of sophistication. “Yes, you, pet,” the voice continues, the center of this little fashionable universe coming over to him, specifically. “Come here.”

The voice has a clear British accent and is unashamed of it, the speaker of the voice surprisingly scruffy, a shadow of stubble on his chin and cheeks, dirty blond hair just a bit too long. A black suit with a lime green paisley tie-nice suit, atrocious tie-and a crooked smile for crooked teeth. He stands tall, broad shoulders and a bulky, though not heavyset frame imposing a feeling of utmost confidence and ease. This man beckons Sam, one finger crooked as the crooked smile continues to play on his lips.

Not too much older than Sam, and even if he were he hid it well, and even if he were he most definitely had money, or talent. Sam found more and more that those two words didn't necessarily go together. He regains control-and feeling-of his arm, Autumn standing with a stunned look on her face as his feet move towards the man, as if rehearsed, as if he had been waiting for this.

“Don't do it!” she says.

“Why not, Autumn?” he replies. “What's the worst that can happen?”

“You don't know what's going to happen!” she says, clearly starting to panic. “You don't know who this guy is!”

“I'm going to find out,” he says calmly.

“You're going to leave me here?!” she asks, incredulous. He nods. “If you go over there, we're through!”

“This is is goodbye, then,” he says flatly. “It was good, yeah?” He turns back towards the stranger, the blueish-gray eyes dancing in their sockets. Ignoring the shriek of her scene, he casually walks over, raising his eyebrow at this man.

The stranger splits his face in two with a wicked smirk. He looks Sam over, and his smirk twists into a leer. “Blow me?”

Sam starts, and then the stranger chuckles, two royal blue dice in his palm. He regards them suspiciously, but gently blows on them anyway. The man closes his fist and sends them rolling down the table, snake eyes facing up for the world to see. The glamourous crowd murmurs their admiration accordingly, and piles of chips are sent down the table to the stranger.

“Thanks, pet,” the stranger-and getting stranger by the second-all but purrs. The dice are given to him again. “Double or nothing?” Sam obliges again, and the man bets snake eyes before rolling to precisely that, the cheers around their small little sect of the universe turning to something of a white noise to his ears. “I don't believe I heard your name, darling,” the man drawls, languid on his tongue. Sam pretends that it's not attractive and it isn't worth leaving your girlfriend over.

“Sa-Arthur,” he says. He didn't have to be smart to know that your first name was not something to give to strangers asking for a blow in Las Vegas.

“S'Arthur?” the man says with a wicked smirk. “Must be some sort of American thing.”

“Arthur,” he says firmly. “My name is Arthur.” He pauses. “But I know I didn't catch yours.”

“Toby. Toby Eames,” he says, his smirk changing into a wonderful smile. “A pleasure. You're simply the best at blowing.” Sam's cheeks turn a mild shade of pink.

“T-thanks,” he says. He feels his hand tugged up, and the two cool blue dice are now in his hand, Toby's around his. “What are you doing?”

“With luck like yours, it would be a tragedy to not to have you throw once or twice,” the stranger says with a fluid smile.

“What luck?” Sam asks wryly, feeling his hand being lifted to Toby's face.

“Oh, it seems like you have a lot of luck tonight, darling,” Toby says mischievously. “You found me, didn't you?”

“Spare me,” Sam says. “Snake eyes,” he says speculatively.

“Again? I'm not sure luck would quite favor snake eyes three times in a row, darling,” Toby says, blowing warm air into Sam's palm. “I gave you a little luck, but throw wisely, yeah?” Sam looks at the table, and at the large stack of chips resting on his guess. Taking a deep breath, he throws the dice.

Snake eyes.

“You are good, pet,” Toby says with a large wink. “Help me carry these?” Arthur frowns, but puts some of the now enormous pile of chips into his pockets, and Toby Eames does the same. They walk together to the cash-in booths, Toby's hand resting lightly on the small of his back. They empty their pockets and large stacks of money are handed over to Eames, which he pockets with a wide smirk.

“I-I think I have to go,” Sam says.

“Arthur, darling, the night is still much too young to cash in and leave,” Toby says broadly. Sam looks pointedly at Eames. “Well, cash in and leave entirely. Come to another casino with Mr. Eames?”

“If...if you want me to,” Sam splutters. This was turning out to be a most curious evening.

“I would very much like you to accompany me to another hotel...casino,” Eames says wickedly. “But I understand when one has other pressing engagements.”

“I'm nobody's rent boy,” Sam says fiercely. Toby laughs, rich and warm.

“Of course you're not,” he says. He leads him to the door, and then out into the humid air of Las Vegas, too many bodies and too much desert to be anything but too hot, too humid. Heading to the alley on the side of the hotel, Eames looks at him with a quirk of a smile.

“You can't blame me for this,” he begins. Sam immediately conjures up the best way to beat someone up. “But you are just too delicious to let slide.” Toby's lips descend upon him, the fullness of them warm and wet and perfect. Sam reluctantly opens his eyes when it's over, and wonders when they had slid closed. Toby takes his hand and pushes something cool and plastic into his palms. He looks down to see two red dice.

“The last time I had been here, the decorations were red,” Toby muses. “It is a shame that they had changed...but luckily I came prepared for all eventualities. I'll see you around, Arthur, darling.” With another warm kiss of perfection, he gives Sam a brilliant smile and disappears into another club. Frowning, Sam squats to the pavement and rolls the two dice.

Snake eyes.

He rolls them again.

Snake eyes.

He rubs the grime off the two dice on his jeans and touches his fingers to his lips. The bastard.


End file.
